


I just want to Dance with You

by Its_GayRainbows_bitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And galaxy print because I say so, Brief mention of Courferre, Enj can't, Established Relationship, Fluff, Husbands, It's just fluff because I'm soft, M/M, R can dance, R has cat print leggings, Teacher Courfeyrac, Teacher Enjolras, Teacher Grantaire, Valentine's Ball, Valentine's Day, With a matching tux, no beta we die like les amis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_GayRainbows_bitch/pseuds/Its_GayRainbows_bitch
Summary: Musain High's second most popular teacher Grantaire is tasked to teach students to waltz for the school's first-ever Valentine's Ball. As the students of Musain High spend more time with a loosened-up Grantaire, they uncover more and more about their multi-talented, cat-loving teacher. And perhaps even get as far as to find out that their beloved teacher is married... To another teacher in the school.There is R in tights here, maybe that'd pique your interest?
Relationships: Courfeyrac & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Hoes for Valentine's 2021





	I just want to Dance with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cx_shhhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/gifts).



> For [Cx](https://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/) because you are an amazing human being for constantly supplying the fandom with so much ExR content and I want to shower you with all the love.
> 
> This fic is a Valentine's gift exchange for the wonderful Hoes for Enjolras server (my pocket fam!) AND my first ever ExR fic AND my first fic posted on Ao3, so it will forever hold a special place in my heart! 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> (Title inspired by the song under the same name from The Prom.)

As the clock strikes 4, the school bell blares and echoes throughout, signaling the end of another day of school. Grantaire gets up from the floor next to the small piano where he sat cross-legged greeting the bustling students that trickled into the dance room one after the other, who greeted him with timid yet ecstatic smiles.

“Alright, settle down please.” 

The curly-haired man beams and starts the lessons by counting the number of students in the room, satisfied and pleasantly surprised by the number of students who seem to really look forward to the class with their intense buzzing energy overwhelming the packed space.

After gesturing for the students who are barely shorter than him, Grantaire pipes up from the front of the studio, where full-length mirrors line up around all four walls of the room. 

“Thank you all for signing up for ‘Waltz Intensive 101’. Given that the school announced the course on such short notice, I'm absolutely thrilled to see that so many of you have decided to take the time out of your busy schedules to join this class!” The scruffy-looking man's face lights up in another dazzling small, cheeks flush a light red against his tan skin as students burst out with shouts of joy and excitement. It's easy to see how Grantaire continues to come in as one of the most popular teachers in the faculty ever since he first started working at _Musain High_ by how he indulges in the chaotic screams and whistles with winking dramatically at all the seated students, appreciating all the support.

“In case some of you didn't read the notice plastered outside the studio before signing up, hi, I'm M. Grantaire. But that's really a mouth full so everyone can just call me M. R. Extra brownie points if you can decipher why that is,” the man laughs at the witty inside joke before continuing.

“I teach senior year English literature and I can see that some of my own students have decided to take a break from the opulent parties of Mr Gatsby to indulge in the pleasures of dancing instead!” Grantaire chuckles as he points finger guns at Gavroche, one of his brightest and most inquisitive students, who beams in return and lifts a hand to wave at him, excited to discover a new side to his normally stationary teacher.

“I'm a bit rusty with waltz considering I only minored in ballroom dancing as a bet with friends aeons ago, but apparently Principal Valjean thought it was a good idea to not waste money on hiring a professional and instead just asked me to do it. Got to love that man,” the man jokes and adds, “But he is putting every extra penny to rent the photo booths with weird props you kids always complain school functions lack, so I can't complain.”

The atmosphere brightens at the mention of the ball, for it is the first-ever _Musain High_ Valentine's ball which was announced as a way to celebrate the school's 150th anniversary. Students and teachers alike cheered as soon as the announcement was made at the start of the school term and everyone began to look forward to the ball where they can dress up in fancy attire and dance the night away.

A committee was set up months in advance by the teachers who had suggested the event in the first place, aiming to liven up the old school while honouring its traditions. The notoriously strict and frightfully well-organized AP History teacher, M. Enjolras, who is the student-voted most popular teacher in the school for five years in a row, along with M. Grantaire who is a close second each time, and several other teachers who supported the idea were therefore tasked to assist the student union in setting up the music, food and venue for the widely-anticipated ball.

Grantaire, as one of the only teachers who knows how to dance traditionally, was asked to teach students who have no idea how to waltz but still want to have a fun time at the ball without embarrassing themselves by setting up a waltzing intensive class a month before the ball itself in order to help as many students as possible.

“Remember, dancing isn't about counting beats and staying in rhythm. Obviously, they are crucial factors, especially for waltz as it's teamwork, but it's even more important to understand that dancing is first and foremost about expressing your emotions.” The short man grins, mind flashing back years ago when he first stepped into his now dust-covered ballroom dance shoes, taking first position with arms stretched inside an airy studio full of skilled dancers where he'll grow to adore the art of dancing with all his heart for years to come. 

“Let your heart take over when you move to the music. Let it flow through you and your muscles will do the rest.” The petite man demonstrates by twirling about with his arms circled around an imaginary dance partner, feet shuffling to the steps of Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers as his mind automatically supplies him with the brisk instrumental music. 

“Okay, enough rambling on my part,” Grantaire huffs as his feet come to a stop at the edge of the room, back facing the class as he stares at them through the mirror, “It's time to team up! Find a partner you feel you're comfortable with and let's start!”

As the class divides into tiny 2-people groups, Grantaire surveys the room before pulling off his soft beige cardigan and stretches his galaxy legging covered legs, thrilled to begin the first lesson.

* * *

After an hour of intense dancing, everyone in the room collapses onto the hardwood floor from exhaustion. The air in the room musky from all the sweat and tears accumulated over the course of the lesson and delighted chatter fills the room, students and teacher alike satisfied with the progress they made in one single lesson.

Grantaire leans over to switch off the booming Strauss music before lolling his head back, limbs spread out plastered on the chilly floor and declares the end of a successful first class.

“Remember to massage your muscles and preferably soak your feet under cold water for at least half an hour if you don't want to get really terrible bunions. See all of you next week!” Grantaire reminds the class as they slowly maneuver out of the studio, all simultaneously inhaling deep breaths of the cool spring air before turning back and greeting the waving man goodbye.

As the last of the students limp out of the classroom, blazing smiles inked on their faces albeit the protest of their straining muscles, Grantaire closes the door to clean up the room in peace.

Staring at the empty space, the man sighs, unable to resist the temptations of having an unoccupied dance floor all to himself before he scrolls through his playlist, looking through all the songs until he reaches Glazunov's Valse. Grantaire positions himself in front of the mirrors before diving completely into the music, head swinging to and fro as his feet stretch this way and that, muscles relaxed as they loosen to the beats of the trombone.

Which is why he almost trips over his speaker when a voice pipes from the direction of the back door, ripping him from his daze.

“I see you still got it,” the intruding but firm voice teases playfully, a twinkling laugh bounces around the vast space, mingling with Grantaire's renewed pants.

“Shut up,” the darker man snorts as he gathers up his hastily thrown off cardigan and puts on his running shoes, almost tripping headfirst into the floor.

As he slings an arm around the waiting man's waist, the taller of the two asks after hiking his leather messenger bag up to his left, “So how was your first day?”

“It was nice. I'm glad I agreed to do this.”

* * *

“Okay, you move your ankle like so,” Grantaire motions before huddling into the group of confused students and demonstrates enthusiastically. Slowly rotating his left ankle and emphasizing each step, he adds, “Point your left feet downwards, before leaning your entire weight on it.” He stops and gestures for the group to follow him, his focus shifting from each student to make sure everyone understands his instructions.

Grantaire lets out a muffled chuckle as he stares at a frustrated Gavroche who is struggling to position his toes correctly. He concludes that as much as he admires Gavroche’s eloquence in essay analysis during his literature classes, the lengthy boy is certainly not as skilled in controlling his long limbs as he is with a pen.

After feeling more than slightly amused with Gavroche’s scrunched up expression, he masks his uncontrollable grin with a more professional looking smile and kneels down to take a hold of Gavroche’s thigh as he twists it into the correct pose.

Smiling proudly at the boy, Grantaire pushes himself back up and swiftly pats him on the head. He stares at Gavroche, who is grinning wildly back at him as if he has accomplished an impossible task. Grantaire supposes he has a particular soft spot for the young boy, not because he is the younger brother of his best friend, Eponine, but because of how much Gavroche reminds Grantaire of a young him, who knew nothing about dancing but was fascinated with the delicate flow of movement it offers and was determined to at least comprehend its language. He remembers the first ballroom dancing lesson he took back in college, all the trial and error he faced before being able to train his body to memorize each and every position with precision.

“Don’t give up kid, you’re doing fantastic,” Grantaire leans in and whispers, before walking back to the front of the class to address everyone else.

* * *

Going through the rest of the moves from Strauss' Vienna Blood, paying extra attention to Gavroche who almost tripped over his own legs trying to keep up with some of the more complicated steps, a sweaty Grantaire declares an end to their second lesson which ended a tad bit later than scheduled.

As the room buzzes with restored energy, a small knock at the door barely escapes Grantaire’s notice. 

Just as he opens the door to greet the person behind it, a sharp gasp explodes within the room as one of the older girls spots a head of signature golden hair, accompanied with a face so majestic students sign up for his AP classes just to have a glimpse of the angelic man despite being warned multiple times that M. Enjolras is not one to go easy on his students under any circumstances, lean against the railing outside on the corridor. 

“Oh my god, is that M. Enjolras?”

Questions like what is he doing here and why is he here fly around the room until they reach a flushing Grantaire, who ends up pulling the said man into the class to address everyone properly.

“Everyone, say hello to M. Enjolras, who is the one in charge of making this whole ball a reality!” Grantaire steps back before flailing his hands around, miming jazz hands around a stoic Enjolras until the blonde finally cracks a small grin. 

“Glad to see that everyone is taking time to prepare for the ball. As you all must know by now, this ball is to celebrate the founding of our school 150 years ago. But to modernize the whole atrocious system of a traditional ball where the partnership between a male and female is required, _Musain High_ strongly encourages every one of you to bring a partner you deem fit, regardless of gender. I believe by doing so, our school will be able to shed light on the state’s school board and encourage other schools to break free from social and traditional norms as well.” Enjolras finally lets out a determined smile as his gaze meets Grantaire’s, who has wandered to the back of the room during his impromptu speech, hand already digging through the paper bag Enjolras handed him outside the classroom just a moment ago.

The tights-clad man lets out a tiny triumphant shout as he pulls out a packet of dried strawberries, before apologizing sheepishly to the students who were startled by his abrupt outburst. He catches Enjolras’ gaze which has left him for a moment to swipe around the room and lifts the bag of fruit as he mouths a wide “thank you” before popping one strawberry into his mouth.

Enjolras strolls to the back of the room observing the students along the way, back hitting one of the floor-lengthed mirrors beside Grantaire who has slid down and is sitting crossed legged, fully invested in devouring his snack without a care for the world.

Before he could open his mouth and utter a word, Grantaire jumps up and races to the front of the room, promptly abandoning an awkward Enjolras, who resorts to rocking back and forth with both his hands tucked into his neatly ironed dress pants, under poorly concealed glances of admiration thrown his way.

“Some of you complained to me before class that you were sore in all the wrong places after our first lesson," the short man exclaims as most of the students rise from the floor after gathering all of their personal belongings, “So I’m giving all of you one of these stress relief patches I used to rely on every time I danced in college. Just stick them to wherever you feel sore and it’ll heat up automatically and magically heal you.”

Grantaire unzips his duffle bag, revealing packets of the patches he bought for the entire class, in hopes that they would help them with soothing their burning muscles and not give up dancing because of it. He gestures for the other man in the room to help him with distributing the packets and smiles a pearly white smile when Enjolras treads across the room hurriedly and stations next to Grantaire, feigning an exasperated sigh as the shorter of the two shoves at least a dozen of the packets into his arms.

As the blonde wanders around the room handing out packet after packet, he glances back to Grantaire who is also handing out the patches to the students who do not dare to approach him because of his cool and off-putting demeanor. But those who dare attempt to engage him in small talk, asking him questions about the details of the subject he teaches, some, who knew about his passion in current politics, even ask him about his stance on certain issues as they are genuinely curious to witness the legendary M. Enjolras' unfiltered political rant.

Grantaire hands out his last packet of relief patch before setting his gaze upon a flustered Enjolras who is gesturing his arms animatedly, clearly invested in whatever he is talking about. Staring at the taller's expressive features, he noted, _European monarchy in the 16th century_. After all, nothing can quite rile Enjolras up, until he is practically ranting at the speed of a racing sports vehicle, like Louis XIII and the numerous rebellions he suppressed.

Feeling a tug on his oversized jumper with cartoon cats printed all over, he tears his sight away from the distracting man and looks down, becoming face to face with a frowning Gavroche.

“Can I ask you something, M. R. Alone?” The boy forces a small grimace before giving up and resorting back to his depressed expression.

“Sure, kid. Let's go outside then.” Grantaire nods, brow frowning with concern as he yells for the entire class for dismissal as soon as they are ready, before leading Gavroche by the arm and marching them outside through the back door.

Grantaire leans against the railing, eyes tracing the rigid stance of his prized student before focusing them on his twitching fingers. “So I'm assuming this isn't about your last analytical assignment,” the stout man jokes, attempting to get the boy to loosen up and calm down.

Gavroche chuckles slightly before shaking his head, “No, that's not it. I wanted to ask you about… relationship stuff.”

The man tilts his head in confusion, “And you're not confronting Eponine because…? I'm not sure if I could be of much help.”

Gavroche huffs, feeling frustrated and annoyed, “No I can't because she'll definitely make fun of me and never let me live it down. You know how childish that woman can be.”

Grantaire grins, “Yeah, hard to believe she's the disciplinary teacher of the school. So how can I be of service, my good fellow?”

“So there's this… person I really want to ask to the ball, but I don't know how to actually ask them. I mean, I've watched the movies with the dramatic hallway promposals or the private under-the-benches hangout then popping the question, and I have no idea which to go for. I have a small gift planned with matching corsages but I have no idea how to open my mouth and ask them.” Gavroche rants as the twitching on his fingers intensify until the point where he results in pulling on the strings of his hoodie instead.

“Oh wow,” Grantaire breaths, his brain quickly processing everything in order to give Gavroche an adequate answer. 

“Well I think, it all depends on whether or not the person you're going to ask can function well under pressure or if they have a knack for dramatic flair. You'd want to create an atmosphere that won't freak them out. Say for me, I don't do particularly well under scrutiny from strangers, so hallway or public proposals are a huge no-no to me. So my husband-”

“Wait, hang on. You have a husband?! How did I not know that before?” Gavroche's jaw drops, mind racing to deduce who the husband could potentially be.

“Oh right, you weren't supposed to know that. He prefers to not talk about it considering we both work here and it'll just be less of a hassle to not pry you, nosy students, out of our private lives.” Grantaire explains, face growing red as he realizes his initial slip up.

“ _Anyway_. As I said, it depends on the person. You know that person right?” Getting a nod as confirmation, the man continues, “then it should be no problem for you to decide. Good luck, kid.”

Grantaire tries to dart back into the dance studio but isn't quick enough to escape Gavroche's last burning question.

“So how'd your husband propose?”

“Now that's a story for another time, don't you think? Eponine’s going to murder me if you don’t get home before sundown. And besides, it's not only mines to share.” Grantaire flashes the boy a mischievous grin as he closes the door behind him, locking Gavroche out after throwing the boy his bag and shooing him to go home.

* * *

“M. R, is it true your husband is a teacher here too?” Grantaire, still clad in his teaching attire, gets bombarded with questions like such as soon as he arrives at the studio a week later.

The man shoots Gavroche, who is faking nonchalance as he warms up beside the window sill, death daggers until the boy is figuratively wounded.

“I plead the fifth for any question regarding my relationship status.” Grantaire crosses his arms and pouts, “And let's get started, we're already a bit behind schedule today.”

However, as soon as everyone gets into position, Grantaire still does not make a move to go change into his dancing attire as he usually does.

Noticing the confused stares, he explains, “See the thing is the days kind of blurred for me because of everything going on with the ball so I forgot class is today. But don't worry, I asked someone to help me get my tights from home and they should be-”

“I have arrived to save the day, don't you worry!” Courfeyrac, _Musain High_ 's fourth most popular teacher who manages the foreign literature department comes tumbling into the room, voice booming as he announces his presence.

“Yes, Courf, please change in the back and put mine on the bench inside, I'll get them on later.” Grantaire waves his hand and dismisses the lanky man who proceeds to blow him a kiss before sauntering off to the back room.

“Everyone, I've invited M. Courfeyrac to be my partner for today. I figured the most effective way to demonstrate waltz is to bribe the only other teacher who knows how to ballroom dance to show us today. Everyone welcome, M. Courfeyrac.”

Right on cue, Courfeyrac pushes open the door and greets the gawking students with a dramatic twirl, complete with a movement that vaguely resembles an en pointe and ends with a bow.

“Please hold the applause. Y'all ain't seen nothing yet,” Courfeyrac grins as he takes his place beside Grantaire who in turn darts into the backroom to put on his own attire.

After emerging clad in leggings decorated with small kittens and a matching blazer which causes most of the students to snicker, Grantaire leans down to start the stereo which fills the room with Tiersen's La Valse d'Amelie.

He pulls Courfeyrac flushed against him, right hand slipping onto his waist as he holds out the left, signaling the taller to hold on as he leads during the first half of the piece.

They gyrate around the room, going this way and that to the beat of the music. The two even go as far as to demonstrate more advanced techniques such as lifts and dips, hearts thumping as the adrenaline of waltzing flows through their system. Both men break into bright grins as Courfeyrac executes another dip with practiced ease, before pulling himself up with the help of Grantaire’s hand on his lower back and begins his turn to lead the shorter man.

They finish with the spectacular pose of Courfeyrac supporting most of Grantaire’s body above his head and the lifted man stretches out his arm to the ceiling as the music comes to a stop, which is instantly drowned out by the thunderous applause of the entire awestruck class.

Both men suck in huge breaths, chests heaving in tandem as they take each other’s hand again and bow, chuckling at the nonstop clapping from their students.

After the incredibly skilled performance from the school’s two literary teachers, the class splits itself back into small groups, all hoping to get a hang of one or two of the harder positions the two showed them before the end of the lesson.

* * *

“Say, do you think M. Courf is M. R’s husband? They do look like they work really well together,” Gavroche suggests as the lesson pauses for a break, before peaking a glance at the two, who are chatting beside the stereo and laughing at one of Courfeyrac’s terribly cheesy puns.

A small group huddles around the boy as he sprouts his theory, some nodding in agreement while some raise the question of whether M. Courfeyrac is the type of person to keep a relationship private. After all, he does like to shower people with inappropriate amounts of public affection.

“But they have exactly the same rings! How’d you explain that?” Gavroche exclaims, gaze fixed between the fingers of both teachers, noticing golden rings identical to each other on the pointer finger of M. Courfeyrac and the pinky of M. Grantaire. 

"You know what, I’m going to the bottom of this,” Gavroche announces and marches towards the two laughing men before any of his friends can stop him and tell him it is a terrible idea.

“Excuse me, M. Courfeyrac?” The boy squeaks, suddenly growing anxious under the questioning gaze of both teachers.

Realizing the situation, Grantaire nods and gently smile before walking off to some students who are calling for him to help them comprehend some of the moves taught during the first half of the lesson.

“How can I help you old chap?” Courfeyrac stage whispers before letting out a belly laugh, further startling a twitchy Gavroche.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I, we, were wondering if you are married to M. R? Considering-” The boy breaks off as he gestures vaguely to the ring on Courfeyrac’s finger. He is cut off by yet another one of the taller’s boisterous laughter before the man can wipe off a tear that is threatening to spill over his eye and offer an explanation to the curious teenager.

“Oh dear deities, no. I’m beyond flattered that y’all would think that but I am most definitely not married to R. I knew this old little trinket is going to cause misunderstanding someday but they never listen,” Courfeyrac peers down at the glimmering ring wrapped around his finger before taking it off and handing it to Gavroche for a closer examination.

“No, we all have this thing to show we were the founding members of _Les Amis_. It’s a club from college and me, R, Combeferre and Enjolras all have one. Your sister would’ve also gotten one had she joined earlier. Alas, bad timing,” the bubbly man explains, smiling fondly at the memories of the four of them, all (except a cynical Grantaire who only decided to tag along because of his unrequited love for Enjolras at the time) young and bright-eyed, hoping to change the college’s inhuman education system one campaign at a time.

“So it is certainly not a wedding ring if it is what you’re implying,” Courfeyrac laughs before taking the ring and sliding it back into place as a blank Gavroche wraps his head around the fact that the four most popular teachers of _Musain High_ knew each other from such a long time ago.

“As for who was lucky enough to have snatched the heart and soul of our beloved Grantaire and have left him insatiable ever since?” He grins mysteriously, “Well, that is for you to uncover eventually and for me to not spill anything because it is certainly not my tale to tell.”

Courfeyrac winks at Grantaire who is hovering nearby, having overheard parts of their conversation and is attempting to slap his burning blush off his cheeks.

“But I can tell you this, R is not my type, and I’m already taken by M. Combeferre from the faraway department of science.” The man fakes a dreamy sigh before bouncing off to pull Grantaire back to the front of the class to resume the lesson.

* * *

“Quick announcement before you go,” Grantaire bellows to the exhausted students after taking a sip of water. “As you all are aware, today was the last lesson of this intensive waltz course,” he chuckles as one of the students fake sniffles and others pout to echo the sentiment.

The tanned man continues after the noise dies down, “Which is why I’m setting up an extra class the day before the ball, just in case anyone of you wants more help. It won’t be compulsory unlike these lessons, so feel free to skip if you feel like saving your energy for the ball instead.”

The whole class cheers, grateful for such a dedicated teacher as they gather around him and Courfeyrac, thanking them for teaching them skills they never knew they needed before.

* * *

Chatter dies down as soon as the students enter the studio, an automatic response whenever they come face to face with Enjolras, afraid of getting reprimanded for talking when they shouldn’t be.

“Oh come on you guys, Enjolras won’t be writing anyone up tonight,” Grantaire jokes as he peeks his head out of the backroom, clearly still struggling to tie on his dancing shoes.

“He’s just here to evaluate the effectiveness of this course and whether or not we should continue holding this next year,” Grantaire explains as he walks out from the backroom, gliding across the studio to tweak the stereo, getting ready for one last waltz lesson.

“And besides, I dragged him here as my dance partner tonight. Courf’s busy so I figured we could just settle for Enjolras. We’ll just call this lesson ‘how to lead your dance partner who has two left feet’,” Grantaire finishes before swooping Enjolras into his arms, earning an audible shriek from the unexpected man.

He glances up at the blonde’s scandalous expression as he lets out a smitten laugh, before quickly masking it with a sharp cough.

The shorter of the two spins Enjolras away from his body, who almost stumbles by tripping over his own two feet before getting spun back into Grantaire’s embrace, landing squarely against his firm chest with a small _oof_.

Enjolras stares at his shuffling feet, trying to keep up with Grantaire’s while making sure he steps in the correct direction, before the black-haired man tuts and hikes himself up to whisper into Enjolras’ ear. 

The said man nods before taking into account the compromising position they are in, ears flaring red as he leans back and clears his throat.

He shifts his gaze to Grantaire’s eyes before resuming the steps, falling back into the rhythm of Rosas’ Over the Waves.

* * *

“M. R is definitely married to M. Enjolras,” Gavroche declares as soon as his friends gather around him during a break.

“Oh, will you give it a break,” Azelma, Gavroche’s younger sister, mumbles, finally annoyed with her brother’s antics.

“That’s even more unbelievable than M. R with M. Courfeyrac. M. Enjolras and him are practically polar opposites, there’s no way they’re married with how much both of them want to kill the other every time they get into a debate. It’s honestly a miracle that neither of them has started a fight during this period,” another girl comments, arms crossing as she glances to the front of the room, where Grantaire is nudging playfully at Enjolras who is trying to focus on jotting down pointers onto his notepad.

Before Gavroche can refute and get to the bottom of the matter, Grantaire is already calling everyone to attention to continue the lesson.

* * *

The entire courtyard is decorated with various assortments of pastel rainbow-colored streamers and balloons, a clear effort from the multi-talented Grantaire. Lunch benches are pushed to the sides to imitate buffet stands with plates of appetizers and desserts scattered across. A fountain shaped punch dispenser stands in the middle of the food and drinks area, a purchase clearly made by Principal Valjean, as students line up in front of it to fill their cups with their beverage of choice, ready to have a good time.

Proud graduates of Grantaire’s intensive course mingle on the dance floor, all moving with confidence as they recall the moves acquired from the past month and executing them with practiced effort.

“Holy hell, is that M. Grantaire?” a voice strains, catching the attention of all the people near them.

Heads turn as Grantaire enters the courtyard with a large grin which looks eerily similar to when a cat gets its cream, arm tight against a blushing Enjolras' waist. 

Clad in complementary red and green, matching tailored suits, the two stride forward until they reach where the rest of the teachers are stationed for the rest of the night, greeting one another with knowing grins plastered on their faces.

His hand reaches for Enjolras', palms clasping together as the matching silver bands on each of their ring fingers clank together, slotting back into place.

The room silences as every single student stare at the two men who are whispering to each other in a corner, oblivious to the intrigued stares that are shooting towards them from every direction.

“I knew they were married!” Gavroche yells from the middle of the dance floor, chest huffing as he feels triumphant from having his latest theory proven correct, effectively breaking the sudden silence that loomed over the entire student body from the unexpected revelation.

Hushed murmurs overtake the room, as students from every corner sneak glances at the blushing couple which have fallen quiet upon realizing the amount of attention they are getting from merely holding hands.

“Care to dance?” Grantaire pulls Enjolras closer as he blocks his husband’s red face from the rest of the school, and whispers.

The taller of the two sighs before resting his forehead onto Grantaire’s broad shoulder, “Sure, why not. We’ve clearly broken our students already.”

“You _knew_ something like this would happen as soon as you’ve agreed to publicize us to the kids,” Grantaire chortles as he pulls back and bows, hand lifted and palm open as Enjolras slips his slimmer hand into it, pale skin tangled with darker one, allowing himself to get dragged to the middle of the courtyard to dance under the flashing disco ball among the students.

Grantaire begins to sway both of them to the beat of the music, lips lifting into a tiny smirk as he presses his forehead against Enjolras’, forcing the man to close his eyes from the close proximity and focus on the music instead of the movement of his feet.

“I can’t believe I’m really here dancing, with you.”

The shorter man breathes, taking in the scenery surrounding them, with all the glittering heart-shaped balloons floating around, before settling his adoring gaze on his breathtaking husband, everything else melting away until only they remain.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed married Enjoltaire and R in tights! (Consider tipping with kudos and comments <33)
> 
> And thank you so much to Mia for organizing the whole thing, this fic wouldn't even exist without you!
> 
> Come join [Hoes for Enjolras](https://discord.gg/EkHfB4UBtF), everyone's awesome and will drown you with overwhelming affection!


End file.
